


sweet and lowdown

by wreckingtomlinson (karasunonolibero)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-07 18:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19215196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunonolibero/pseuds/wreckingtomlinson
Summary: “Careful,” Louis says as his hand slips inside Harry’s jacket under the guise of steadying him.“What’re you doing?”“You dance like a baby deer walks. You really think I’d let you fall and drag me down with you?” Louis teases him, his hand seeking out the inner pocket where wallets are usually kept.Harry seems to buy it, flashing Louis another sunshine smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to pickpocket me.”It’s said jokingly, but Louis almost freezes anyway. His fingers close around the wallet and, as they spin around, almost tripping over a coil of rope on the ground, he removes his hand. He slips the wallet in his back pocket and pats Harry on the head with his free hand. “I’d never steal nothing from you, Harry Styles. And that’s a promise.”~Or, Harry is about to be married for the fourth time, Louis’ never been kissed, Niall can’t cook, Liam can’t dance, and none of them are very good at acting.





	sweet and lowdown

**Author's Note:**

> BIG thank you to nix and sonja for hosting this fic fest!! i had so much fun planning and writing this. i considered so many musicals but when i reread the synopsis of nice work if you can get it, i knew this was the one i had to do. obviously it’s not _exactly_ the same as the musical but i think i’ve stayed true to the main plot! i highly encourage you to listen to the soundtrack, it's so much fun and definitely helps set the mood for the fic! 
> 
> also, a small note that in this fictionalized version of the 1920s, homosexuality is not as big a deal as it probably was. which i know will probably require a tiny bit of suspension of disbelief but then again, a lot of this fic is a bit ridiculous and wacky so keep suspending that disbelief if you will.
> 
> but like i said—it’s meant to be pretty lighthearted, so enjoy!

The alley behind the speakeasy known as Little Mix is dim, the moonlight just enough to make out the crates, the wagon, and the two people Louis came here to find.

“You’re late,” Liam says.

“Shut up, I am not.” Louis might be. He doesn’t really know if he is or not. All he does know is that Niall and Liam are standing in front of two cases of rum, packaged in wooden crates marked “Florida Oranges.”

“So, quick question,” Niall says. “After we drop these off, the hell are we gonna do with the other 400 cases?”

Louis grunts, lifting a case and dropping it into the wagon. “We’re gonna bring it right to Chief Corden’s door and ask if he wants to have a soiree. What do you think we’re gonna do?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t like having 400 sitting in the boats. We shoulda been able to get all these delivered three days ago,” Liam points out. “What are we gonna do? Where are we gonna put it all?”

“I don’t know yet. I sent a message to Dagger and all he said was it was okay if it takes all week, just not to get caught but if we had to leave, to stash it somewhere on the Island.” Louis sighs, frustrated. He doesn’t like starting jobs without knowing exactly how they’re meant to go, but orders are orders and he has to trust that their boss wouldn’t lead them astray. “It’s the damn Feds everywhere.”  

“And do you know anywhere out there that’s good to store that much booze?”

“No. But…” Louis’s gaze moves to the very speakeasy they’re standing behind. “Maybe someone in there’s got an idea.”

“Maybe. Let’s just get these two cases in there, how about that?” Niall suggests, so the three of them get to work.

They’ve got it down to a science now, the three of them moving around each other seamlessly. They should—they’ve been running rum in New York for almost seven years now and been friends for even longer. They all grew up in the same building in Brooklyn, and Louis has fond memories of them three of them playing outside in the building’s yard.

As much as he thinks Prohibition is a ridiculous, puritanical attempt to control the decisions of grown adults, he does have to admit he’s a tiny bit glad for it because without it, he wouldn’t have this job. And without this job, he wouldn’t be able to help support his mother and six siblings.

“Ow!” he hears Niall protest, followed immediately by a frantic shushing sound from Liam.

“You hurt, Ni?” Louis asks, walking over to see for himself.

Niall mutters a curse under his breath. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. But they got their rum, so let’s beat it.”

Liam nods. “The docks?”

“The docks,” Louis confirms, as he hears heavy footsteps at the front of the alley.

“Shit,” Niall mumbles. “That’s our cue.”

“You boys run, I’ll take care of him.” Louis pulls out his pistol and waves for Niall and Liam to leave. “I’ll be fine. If I ain’t at the docks in an hour, I ain’t fine.”

Niall and Liam scramble faster than Louis can say “bootlegger.” He stands his ground, pistol arm kept casually by his side as he prepares to face whoever’s coming for him.

He hears off-key humming, and then the next thing he knows, a man in an expensive-looking suit comes stumbling into the alley, singing to himself. “Grab a cab and go down to where the band is playin’, where milk and honey flow down…” he slurs, top hat perched atop his curly hair at an angle that suggests it won’t be on his head for much longer.

Louis clears his throat, and the man’s eyes snap up to meet his. Shit, they’re so, so green. But Louis can’t be distracted by stupid pretty eyes. This man could be a fed undercover. He can’t take that chance. But before he can speak, the man blurts something out first.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here in the dark?” the man asks, leaning heavily against the side of the building.

“What’s a well-dressed thing like you doing in a place like that?” Louis retorts.

The man doesn’t answer. “What’s your name?”

“Never you mind.” Louis studies him. The moonlight doesn’t afford him much of a look at the guy, but his posture and body language is relaxed. A little _too_ relaxed. Louis decides he can sass him a little. “You ain’t answering my questions. Why should I answer yours?”

The man gives him a broad, lopsided grin. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Never You Mind. M’Harry. Harry Styles.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. He’s heard of the infamous Harry Styles, the one who’s just been divorced for the third time. He doesn’t pride himself on being up-to-date with the gossip, especially not when the rich are concerned, but in a job like his, naturally he hears things. “So back to my question. What’s a well-dressed, well-connected, rich sod like you doing in a place like this?”

“What’s wrong with this place?” The lopsided smile melts right into a frown, as though Louis had personally kicked a kitten in front of him or something. “I like it. Like the bar girl. Leigh-Anne’s the eel’s hips.”

“She is,” Louis finds himself agreeing. “That’s not what I meant, though. I just—well, this ain’t really your kinda scene, is it?”

Harry deflates even more, slumping down to sit on a barrel. “No,” he says glumly. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“Didn’t you just get divorced?” Louis asks, not caring how nosey that sounds.

“Yeah, but. My Uncle Simon’s making me get married again as soon as possible. Says I have to find a good wife to retain the family honor or something like that. But I wanna tell you a secret.” Harry waves for Louis to come closer, and he hesitates. Surely five minutes after meeting is a bit soon to be sharing secrets. But Harry’s obviously drunk, so maybe he won’t remember any of this in the morning. They’ll go their separate ways and never see each other again, so what’s the harm in listening? Louis inches closer, shivering a bit as hot, whiskey-laced breath ghosts over the shell of his ear. “I never liked ‘em. Any of them.”

Louis’s expression tightens. “So you marry them and lead them on just to break their hearts?” he accuses. “What kinda sick games do you think you’re playing?”

“No!” Harry protests. “I don’t mean to. Uncle Simon makes me. I just don’t—I don’t want a wife. I want a husband.”

Oh. That would explain an awful lot. “So don’t marry the dame. There, problem solved.”

Harry gives a sad wail. “I can’t! Her father’s Senator Ben Winston.”

“Oh, that bastard!” Louis exclaims. “He’s the one who’s been crackin’ down on places just like this.”

“Yeah,” Harry says with a nod and a hiccup. “I don’t like him either. But Uncle Simon says it’s a good family so I have to do it.”

“Sounds like you just do whatever your uncle says. What do _you_ wanna do?” Louis asks him, sitting on the barrel next to him.

“If I don’t do what he tells me, he’ll disown me and then I’ll have no money. Or house. I’ll have to make my own lunch,” Harry says despondently.

“Your own lunch? What a tragedy,” Louis deadpans. “But that ain’t an answer. What do you wanna _do_?”

“I want to fall in love.”

Of all the things Louis expected Harry to say, that definitely wasn’t one of them. “You wanna what?”

“Fall in love.” Harry’s expression turns dreamy, and he rests his chin on his hand, looking up at the moon. “You know. Find a nice guy and live with him in the beach house we have on Long Island that we never use. That’s the dream. Love. What’s money mean in the end if there’s no one to enjoy life with?”

“Uh huh,” Louis says, because all his brain is stuck on is _beach house on Long Island that we never use_. “So, what, you’re waiting for a man and that’s why you never use the beach house?”

“I’m supposed to get it when I finally marry someone my uncle approves of. So far, that hasn’t happened.”

“Interesting.”

Harry perks up suddenly, springing to his feet with surprising agility considering he’d been staggering around just a few minutes earlier. “And! I wanna dance.”

“Dance.”

“Yes! Don’t you hear the music?”

Louis does. It’s faint, but he can make out the strains of the big band music coming from inside Little Mix. “If you wanna dance, just go back inside.”

“But I don’t wanna dance with any of them. I wanna dance with you.”

“With me.” Louis laughs. “I ain’t no dancer, I’ll tell you that.”

“So what? Neither am I! But you’re so pretty. Come on, Never You Mind, please?”

When Louis agrees, he swears it’s because he sees it as an opportunity to swipe the guy’s wallet and hopefully find the address of his beach house. Not because of his stupid green puppy dog eyes, not one bit.

So he lets Harry sweep him up in his arms, both of them falling awkwardly into the pocket of the music. Harry’s assumed the leading position though it’s clear he really doesn’t know how to lead, but it’s not like Louis can take over; so they trot along, bumbling step after bumbling step, as Harry holds him close. And on top of it all, it’s dark and they nearly trip over something every few minutes.

When Harry stumbles backward over a wood pile, Louis sees his chance. “Careful,” he says, as his hand slips inside Harry’s jacket under the guise of steadying him.

“What’re you doing?”

”You dance like a baby deer walks. You really think I’d let you fall and drag me down with you?” Louis teases him, his hand seeking out the inner pocket where wallets are usually kept.

Harry seems to buy it, flashing Louis another sunshine smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to pickpocket me.”

It’s said jokingly, but Louis almost freezes anyway. His fingers close around the wallet and, as they spin around, almost tripping over a coil of rope on the ground, he removes his hand. He slips the wallet in his back pocket and pats Harry on the head with his free hand. “I’d never steal nothing from you, Harry Styles. And that’s a promise.”

Harry’s grin gets even wider if that’s possible, and he holds Louis closer so they’re cheek-to-cheek. “That’s the nicest promise anyone’s ever made me.”

“Not to steal something? You gotta start making better friends.”

“I did start. I got you, right?”

Louis pulls back as the song comes to an end, arching an eyebrow. As lucid as Harry’s speech is, he’s still clearly drunk, but he seems so earnest and lonely Louis wonders what the harm is in leading him on a bit. He’ll be gone in a few hours anyway, and Harry probably won’t remember a thing come morning. “Sure. You got me.”

“Well, ain’t that—”

Harry doesn’t get to finish the sentence, letting go of Louis and dropping onto a wooden crate, where he immediately slumps against the wall and begins to snore. Louis just stares for a second and then shakes his head. What kind of character is the famous Harry Styles?

Just then, there’s a scream from inside the speakeasy, and one of the chorus girls dashes out.

Louis grabs her by the shoulders to stop her. “What’s going on? What happened in there?”

“Chief Corden’s on his way over! We all gotta scram!” she shouts back at him before running off into the night. The band screeches to a halt and people start pouring out the doors in a mad dash to leave the scene before the cops arrive.

“Shit,” Louis mutters, sparing a glance at Harry before deciding someone else can take care of him and hauling ass down to the docks.

Thankfully, Niall and Liam are with the boat, all 400 cases of rum safely stashed aboard. “We gotta go,” Louis says, jumping aboard and starting to untie the lines. “The chief’s about to raid Little Mix.”

“But where are we going?”

“Either of you happen to know where Harry Styles’ Long Island beach house is?”

Liam gasps. “You want us to put 400 cases on rum in Harry Styles’ beach house?”

“He never uses it. Told me so himself,” Louis says, pulling out Harry’s wallet and starting to thumb through it. “We can store it in the cellar for as long as we need.”

“I know where it is. It’s that one with the great big garden by the shore,” Niall supplies. “Let’s go.”

 

They reach the dock of the beach house at dawn. Breaking into the house is a cinch, considering the cellar door isn’t even locked. Idiots. It’s a good half-mile from the shore to the house, so it’s slow going, but Louis relaxes, knowing it’s highly unlikely anyone will notice. The houses on either side are too far away, and those residents don’t even seem to be home, if the lack of lights from inside the window are any indication.

A few hours later, the three of them are unloading the cases in the cellar when Louis hears noise coming from upstairs.

They all freeze.

“The hell?” Liam mumbles.

“Shh!” Louis creeps up the stairs, as close to the door to the main floor as he dares, and listens.

“…what a beautiful wedding, don’t you think so, Harry?” a female voice is saying.

“Very nice,” Harry agrees unenthusiastically.

“It’s just a shame your uncle couldn’t have given us this house to _live_ in. But at least we can enjoy it for the honeymoon.”

Louis’ stomach lurches. So not only is the beach house he “never uses” being used, he went through with marrying whoever he didn’t want to marry. Does the dame even know how uninterested Harry is in her? Louis hasn’t even seen her but he doesn’t like her. He climbs back down the stairs to deliver the bad news.

“I thought you said he never uses it!” Niall hisses.

“He did!” Louis hisses back. “He was drunk. Serves me right for believing him, I guess.”

“Well, what are we gonna do now?”

“Hey, look what I found.” Liam produces three butler’s uniforms. “I found these in a chest over there. Put these on and maybe we can say we’re…delivering a gift from…someone.”

Niall snorts. “If I got 400 cases of rum for getting married I woulda done it a long time ago.”

“We don’t really have options here,” Liam points out, already starting to pull on the jacket. Niall follows suit, but Louis realizes, to his dismay, that the third uniform is hopelessly large on him.

“What do I do?” he hisses to Liam, waving an arm and watching the sleeves fall over his hands. “No one’s gonna believe I work here if my uniform doesn’t fit!”

“Just…go keep watch!” Niall pushes him toward the door. “Outside!”

“Outside? Are you out of your mind?”

They’re interrupted from their bickering by a shrill laugh from the woman upstairs. “Oh, Harry, you’re so _funny_! Of _course_ we’re going to!”

Louis doesn’t like the sound of whatever they’re going to do. And from the tone of Harry’s lackluster “Fantastic,” he doesn’t either.

“But!” the woman goes on. “I want a bath first. I want to look absolutely perfect the first time you see me naked.”

He’s still never seen this woman but Louis wants to vomit at the thought. The next thing he hears is the sound of heels clacking as she runs up the stairs, the sound of a door closing, and then silence.

“We’re clear,” Niall whispers. “Quick, go now. Just make something up if someone sees you and if there’s trouble, whistle real loud.”

“Fine, fine.” Louis wanders back outside, putting his hands in his pockets and trying to look casual as he struts around the grounds. Maybe he can pretend to be the gardener, or something. He meanders around to the front of the house, where he finds an extremely agitated-looking Harry Styles pacing back and forth. Shit. Louis tries to slink back the way he came but Harry spots him.

“Oh! Sorry, mister, didn’t mean to disturb you,” Louis sputters out. “I’m just here to, uh, trim the shrubs.”

Harry just nods, still looking glum. “Thank you.” He plops down on the front stoop, sighing heavily.

Well, at least Harry doesn’t seem to remember him. That’s a good thing. Louis frowns and plays along. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm, just…nothing.”

“Ain’t nothing. Nobody’s all mopey like this over nothing.” Louis sits down next to him, thinking that maybe if he keeps Harry talking, it’ll give Niall and Liam time to finish the job.

“Just relationship problems. You know how it is,” Harry tells him with a rueful grin. “Nothing I can’t handle, I guess.”

“Well,” Louis says after a pause, “maybe it ain’t really my place to be saying stuff like this, but you shouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Life’s too short to waste it on things that make you unhappy.”

One corner of Harry’s lips quirks up in the tiniest hint of a smile. “Do all gardeners give advice like you?”

“Nope. You’re just one of the lucky ones.”

Harry keeps smiling at him. “You look kind of…familiar. Have we met before?”

Fuck. Louis pastes a smile onto his face. “Don’t know. I don’t see you round this house too often.” He swallows thickly as Harry just keeps _staring_ at him, like he’s trying to figure out all of Louis’ secrets or something. “What’s it to you, anyway? All I do is trim the shrubs around here.”

“My uncle Simon probably hired you, I suppose.” Harry shrugs. “What’s your name?”

“Never you mind.”

Harry lights up suddenly. “It’s you!” he exclaims.

Louis’ heart stops. “What’s me?”

“You! From last night, behind Little Mix!”

Oh god, he’s been caught. Damn it, he’d counted on Harry _not_ remembering that interaction. Maybe Louis can convince him it wasn’t really him. “Little Mix?”

“Yeah! We danced, don’t you remember? In the alley? And then I kissed you!”

Louis’ mouth drops open in surprise. So Harry’s drunken mind concocted a kiss, huh? Louis can use that to his advantage. “Oh, hell no. Now I know that wasn’t me.”

Harry sticks his lower lip out in a pout. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You wanna know how I know? No one’s ever kissed me, so there.”

“No one’s ever kissed you?” Harry echoes.

“Yeah, you heard me the first time,” Louis says, cheeks lighting up with a blush. It’s not a fact he’s proud of, but somehow, he’d managed to make it twenty-seven years without a single romantic kiss on the lips. Sure, the drag scene is thriving in the city, but there are still _laws_ against certain things, and Louis can’t help but be a little paranoid that any good-looking guy he talks to might be an undercover cop trying to trap him.

“Oh. That’s sort of sad. Kissing is nice,” Harry says.

“And I suppose you’re a world-champion kisser, huh?”

“I didn’t know they gave awards for kissing.”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear? They’re giving Nobel Prizes out for kissing now.” Louis finds himself grinning at how easy the banter comes, and Harry seems to be enjoying it just as much, if the way he steps closer is any indication.

“Then I guess I can’t be a world-champion if I didn’t win.” He’s right in front of Louis now, crowding into his personal space, and Louis’ eyes are nearly crossed trying to look at Harry’s face and he _could_ take a step back but he really, really doesn’t want to.

“Better luck next year,” he manages.

“Maybe.”

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand cupping his cheek and a warm set of lips on his mouth. Holy fuck, Harry’s kissing him. Out here, in front of his fancy Long Island beach house while he’s got a _wife_ upstairs taking a goddamn bath. If he’s honest, Louis can’t really be fucked to care about any of that. His hands flail for a second, unsure what he’s meant to do with them, before they settle on Harry’s waist, resting lightly over his suit jacket.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, Harry’s pulling back, leaving Louis reeling. He brings a hand up to his lips. “Did you—”

“Now you can’t say no one’s ever kissed you,” Harry says with a hint of a smirk.

Louis scrunches up his nose. “You ain’t special just ‘cause you’re my first kiss, you know.”

“Sure.” Harry looks considerably lighter than he had when Louis first found him pacing out here. He doesn’t read too much into that. “Well, I should probably head back inside. I have some, er, things to take care of.”

“You do that, boss.” Louis salutes, grinning when that gets a chortle out of Harry.

“I know you won’t give me your name, but there’s gotta be something I can call you if I need you.”

“Louis,” Louis tells him. “My name’s Louis.”

Harry grins and gives him a funny little two-fingered salute in return and disappears back into the house. Once Louis is sure he’s gone, he lets out a sigh and flops down on the steps. Jesus, this day just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

“Lou!” Niall calls, and Louis turns to see him and Liam, both in their butler outfits, jogging around to the front of the house. “We thought you was a goner!”

“Nah, just keeping Harry distracted. You guys done?”

“Well.” Liam and Niall exchange glances before Liam speaks up. “Since they’re here now and we don’t know how long their honeymoon is gonna be…should we keep it in the basement after all?”

Louis groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “It’s this or the boats.”

“There’s gotta be somewhere else,” Niall says. “Maybe Dagger knows.”

“I am _not_ contacting Dagger,” Louis hisses. “Then he’ll think we’re a bunch of amateurs.”

“What if we kept it in there until nighttime?” Liam suggests. “It’s all out of the boats, at least, so it can stay there until it gets dark, and then we can put it back in the boats and find somewhere else to hide it. And in the meantime we can keep them out of the cellar by telling them, erm…maybe we can pretend we’re repairmen sent to do renovations down there, or something.”

Louis frowns at the mention of nighttime. “I don’t know,” he says uneasily. “Where else are we gonna hide it? Where are you gonna find repairman outfits? There’s a lot to think about.” That, and it’s the first night of the honeymoon. Combined with what he heard the woman say earlier, he knows what’s going to happen and the thought of it, the thought of Harry consummating his fourth marriage with a fourth woman he can’t love, makes him sick to his stomach.

His discomfort must show on his face more than he intends. “Oh, shit, Lou, are you thinking about…” Niall waves a hand vaguely. “Them?”

“No,” Louis lies. “I just don’t like the idea of waiting that long.”

“Well, we gotta do _something_. Why don’t we—” Liam begins, before a young boy rides up on a bicycle and stops in front of the three of them.

“Telegram for a Mr. Harry Styles,” he announces, drawing an envelope from his bag and looking unsure who to give it to.

For a second, none of them move, until Louis jabs an elbow into Liam’s side. “Oh! Yes, thank you,” Liam rushes out, taking the envelope. “I’ll get it to him right away.”

The boy nods and rides off, leaving Louis, Niall, and Liam to stare at the envelope.

“What’s it say?” Niall wants to know.

“We can’t open his telegram! What if it’s important?” Liam says.

“Well then, go get it to him, butler man,” Niall says, patting Liam on the shoulder.

Liam blanches, looking from the envelope to the front door. “He’s gonna think I’m his butler for real.”

“As long as he doesn’t think we’re bootleggers,” Louis points out. “Go take this to him and Niall and I are gonna stay out here.”

Liam sighs, but dashes inside the house.

“So what are _you_ gonna do?” Niall asks.

Louis shrugs. “Maybe try to find a uniform that actually fits? I don’t want to stay out here pretending to be a gardener all day. Harry remembered me, you know.”

“From last night?” Niall gapes.

“Yeah. Except he swore we kissed, and I swore we didn’t, and you know what that bastard does?” Louis scoffs. “Kisses me, right out here.”

“You’re kidding.” Niall cackles. “Harry Styles kissed you? Right where we’re standing? Oh, man, if only Liam were here to hear this. Are you gonna be his fifth marriage?”

Louis groans, burying his face in his hands. “You’re the worst.”

Suddenly, there’s a shrill screech from inside the house, and the frantic sound of running down the stairs. Niall quickly arranges himself by the front door, pretending to be a doorman, while Louis busies himself pretending to examine the rosebushes in the front gardens. The front doors open with a _slam_ and a woman runs out, waving a piece of paper in her hand and yelling, “You’ll hear from my father!” before running off down the driveway.

Niall and Liam just look at each other. “What the hell was that about?” Niall asks at the same time Louis says, “Is that the dame he married?” They stare at each other for another few seconds in confusion before bursting into laughter, both of them doubling over at the sheer ridiculousness of the scene.

“Should we—should we go in and see what happened?” Niall asks once he’s caught his breath.

Louis nods, his laughs dying down to snickers as they both head into the foyer. “Hey, is everything okay in here?” he calls out. “We heard some screaming before.”

Harry appears from the kitchen with Liam at his side. “Everything is great,” Harry says, sounding very much like everything is terrible. “The telegram was from my last ex-wife, Taylor. She’s refusing to sign the annulment papers so technically, we’re still married and Kendall and I aren’t.”

“Kendall. Oh, the broad that just left screaming about her father?” Niall blurts out.

“Oh, she’s getting her father involved?” Harry practically whines, dropping dramatically into an armchair. “I’m done for.”

“Why, who’s her father? The President of the United States?” Niall jokes.

“Worse. He’s the conservative senator Ben Winston. And her mother is Kris Jenner.” Harry buries his face in a pillow, and Louis wishes he could do the same. He remembered Ben, but he hadn’t known Kris was his wife. Figures the two most outspoken Prohibitionists, people Louis’ spent hours cursing at under his breath for pushing stupid laws, are the ones getting involved. And if they get wind of the 400 cases of rum the three of them are currently hiding…

“Excuse us for a moment, sir,” Liam says as Louis drags him and Niall into the dining room, out of earshot.

“What the hell do we do now? Two of the biggest Prohibitionists in the country are on their way here and we have 400 cases of rum in the cellar!” Louis grits out. “And we’ll be sitting ducks.”

“Well, we have some time before they come stormin’ down the doors. So then, here’s what we do,” Niall says. “We go with the old plan of pretending we’re doing work on the basement, or something. We can board it up, say we’re doing repairs. Meanwhile, I need _you_ to distract Harry for the rest of the day,” he adds, poking Louis in the chest.

“Me? Why me?”

“Because he likes you. Just get him to kiss you again, or something.”

“Wait. You kissed Harry?” Liam says.

“That ain’t important right now. What time’s it?” Louis asks.

Niall glances at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room. “Two in the afternoon. Think you can keep him distracted for the rest of the day?”

“When do you think _she’s_ coming back?”

“Maybe _Harry_ knows.” Niall pushes him back toward the living room. “Go on, work your magic.”

“Liam? Niall? Louis?” Harry calls suddenly. The three of them flock back into the living room. “I, er…have a confession to make. Can you boys keep a secret for me?”

Louis glances at his compatriots, and they all nod in unison. “Course we can,” Louis says.

“Anything for you, big guy,” Niall adds.

Harry’s gaze darts to the cellar door. “It’s about my cellar.”

Louis’ heart stops. Oh, god, Harry found out about the contraband and now they’re all done for.

Harry leans in close and lowers his voice, even though they’re inside. “I got a bottle of gin in the cellar.”

“A whole bottle of gin?” Niall squawks.

“Shhh!” Harry whacks a hand over Niall’s mouth even though they’re inside. “I know, I know! But can I trust you to not to tell anybody?”

“You got it,” Liam promises.

“Cross our hearts and hope to die.” Niall nods seriously, drawing an invisible X over his chest.

Harry exhales. “Thank you. Normally I wouldn’t be concerned, but since her parents are coming…”

“Don’t you worry, Styles. We’ll guard your cellar so good even you won’t be allowed down there.” Niall beams angelically.

“You’re a real lifesaver, you know that?” Harry claps Niall on the shoulder. “Now, what do you say about something to eat? It’s past lunchtime.”

Niall lights up at the mention of lunch. “Lunch? You know any good places to eat around here?”

Harry laughs. “You’re a riot! I like a chef with a good sense of humor.”

“A ch—right, yes, the chef. That’s me. I’m the chef,” Niall sputters out, barely bothering to hide his surprise at this turn of events. “Well, let’s get going into the kitchen, my good sir!”

The two of them march off to the other side of the house, leaving Louis and Liam staring slack-jawed at each other in front of the stairs.

“Niall can’t cook,” they both whisper in horror.

 

Liam decides to use Harry’s distraction and Niall’s absence as a good excuse to putter around in the cellar pretending to do work.

“You gotta keep watch outside,” he tells Louis, giving him a shove toward the house. “There’s no telling when she’s gonna come back with her folks. Or if the feds could show up.”

Louis nods grimly. They can’t take those chances. They’re already on thin ice with this plan, but as long as Harry is none the wiser, they should be peachy. Louis scrambles back up the lawn, ready to mill around the front of the house like before, but this time he spots a small shed near the edge of the property with a rusted lock on it, and he grins.

Five minutes later, the broken lock drops into the dirt and Louis forces the wooden door open with a grunt. A cloud of dust erupts in his face and he coughs, waving the particles away as he steps inside. It’s just a modest gardener’s shed, but it’s got everything he needs to complete his disguise. He grabs a pair of gloves and some clippers and heads back around the front of the house.

He doesn’t expect to have to do any actual gardening, considering his only experience with plants was picking leaves off the tree that he and Niall and Liam used to climb as kids. The sound of the front door opening dashes that plan real fast, though, and he hefts his clippers to clumsily start pruning one of the swan-shaped topiaries in front of the mansion.

“Lunchtime’s over already?” he asks, trying to sound casual as he chops away.

To his surprise, Harry laughs. “He’s the most interesting cook I’ve ever had. Threw two slices of cheese and sliced meat on some bread and said ‘there ya go, sport.’ I asked him if he was going to heat it up and he cackled in my face and told me it was a recipe from his homeland.”

What a painfully Niall move. Louis has to laugh too. “He’s a real character, that one. Was it any good?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Harry motions to the topiaries. “How are these coming along?”

“Great,” Louis says, narrowly avoiding chopping the beak off the swan. If only Harry could go back inside and stop distracting him from _not_ doing the job he’s _not_ paid to do, that would be just dandy.

“Well, do you mind if I stay outside with you for a while? Normally this is when I’d take a walk around the grounds, but it sure is nice being out here talking to you.”

“Sure, I don’t mind the company,” Louis lies through his teeth. He’s about to give up on attempting to improve on the swan when three things happen in quick succession.

“That’s wonderful to hear, Louis,” Harry says, resting a hand on Louis’ forearm, which makes Louis yelp and jerk his arm and promptly behead the swan.

“Harry, I’m workin’ here!” is all he can think to say as he drops the clippers and turns to face Harry properly.

Harry at least has the decency to look abashed. “Sorry, Lou, I didn’t mean to make you uneasy. I just—I really do like talking to you.”

“And I like talking to you too, Harold, but I got a job to do out here, you see?” Louis makes a vague motion to the headless swan. “Now I gotta get real artsy real fast and figure out what to make this into.”

“Well, maybe we should keep it. I’d be the only one in the neighborhood with a headless swan.” Harry beams.

Louis rolls his eyes and bends down to pick the clippers up again. “Very funny. I’m sure Kendall’s gonna love that.”

Harry’s face falls at the mention of his not-yet-wife. “Along with everything else,” he says with such a doleful expression that Louis feels bad for bringing her up, even as part of his clueless gardener act.

Louis frowns. “Hey, sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to make you all sad and stuff. Just uh…get your mind off of it for now, or something? She ain’t coming back for a while, right?”

Harry nods, though he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Maybe what I’ll do is just…take a walk. I need some fresh air.”

“You’re already getting some. But sure, you could use more. You look like death.” Louis grins at him to let Harry know he’s joking, and thankfully Harry grins back.

“So does she,” Harry shoots back, pointing at the swan’s head lying on the ground by Louis’ feet, before disappearing down the street.

As soon as Harry is out of earshot, Louis runs into the house and yanks the cellar door open. “This is the most harebrained plan I ever heard of,” Louis hisses into the stairwell. “I just chopped the head off one of the swans out front ‘cause Harry wanted to _talk_ . Niall, you down there? If I’m up here pretending everything is all peachy then one of you better be up here, too. He’s gonna think it’s suspicious if his butler _and_ his cook are missing.”

“I can’t cook for him again after that disaster,” Niall’s voice floats back up to him.

“Well, I don’t wanna go up!” Liam protests.

Louis slams the door so hard it rattles one of the pictures on the wall. “Can you believe all my friends are a bunch of useless bastards?” he asks a portrait of a stern-looking man who looks a little like Harry.

“Hey, we heard that, ya moron!” Niall yells.

Louis opens the door again to shout some more choice words at his partners, only to see Liam appear in the stairwell in front of him.

“Actually, we might have a new plan,” Liam tells him.

“Who’s we, you and Niall?”

“Well, yeah, it’s mostly for you.”

“And you left me out of the decision-making? I’m getting better friends. You guys are chumps.”

“Just listen for a second, would you? You’re our best bet for distracting Harry,” Liam says, grabbing Louis by the shoulders. “Don’t you see? He’s always talking to you or looking for you or something. I bet if you keep him distracted upstairs, he won’t hear anything we’re saying down here and he’ll be out of the way.”

“Distract him how? I screwed up the garden and the butler uniform don’t fit.”

“With your…” Liam waves a hand at Louis. “You know! Kiss him again and stuff!”

“You want me to stay up here and _seduce_ Harry Styles?” Louis whisper-shouts. “Are you nuts?”

“That’s exactly what we want you to do!” Niall calls.

“Or just—just talk to him, or something! He likes you!” Liam shuts the door behind himself, standing front of the portrait of Harry’s old man doppelgänger. “I’ll stay up here in case he needs something. But listen, if you’re gonna be all sexy and stuff, you gotta find something better to wear.”

 

It occurs to Louis, as Liam drags him upstairs to snoop around in the spare bedrooms to look for more suitable clothes, that Liam is actually sort of right. A small part of him wants to think that Harry would probably like him in anything, but the rest of him is stuck in his head about the whole plan. How is he supposed to seduce someone when he’s only just had his first kiss a few hours ago? As nice as Harry is, he highly doubts any seduction efforts will work if he’s still in the same clothes from the night before. And probably not smelling like he does.

So at Liam’s suggestion, Louis wastes an hour washing up in one of the bathrooms he finds on the second floor. Once he emerges, smelling cleaner than he has in months, Liam produces a clean white button-up, some slacks, and a pair of suspenders that he says he found in one of the spare rooms. And surprisingly, they actually fit him. Well, okay, the trousers are a little tight across his ass but maybe that’ll work in his favor.

“Where _is_ Harry anyway?” Liam asks as they head back down the stairs.

“Taking a walk. He’s been gone for a while, though, so I don’t know where in the world he went,” Louis says. Downstairs, they find Niall puttering around in the foyer, holding a mop and looking like he hasn’t a clue what to do with it.

“Hey, Ni!” Louis calls down. “What’re you doing out of the cellar?”

“I thought I heard the front door open, so I came up,” Niall explains. “It was nobody, but it’s a good thing I was up here, ‘cause who comes strutting through the door ten minutes later but the boss man himself. Said he wanted to take a bath and then go to bed early, so I had to turn down his bed while he was washing up.”

“Well, look what Liam found me.” Louis struts downstairs, feeling pretty damn good if he says so himself. “Harry Styles ain’t gonna know _what_ hit him."

Niall lets out a whistle. “Damn, Tommo, you look like a million bucks.”

Louis takes an exaggerated bow as Liam claps. “Thank you, thank you.”

Just then, there’s a heavy pounding on the door.

“LIPD!” the caller shouts.

“Fuck, hide!” Liam’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he shoves Louis toward the hall closet.

“How come _I_ gotta hide?” Louis protests.

“Just let the butler handle this!”

Louis huffs but dives inside, shutting the door just as Liam lets the policeman in.

“Evening, gentlemen. I’m Officer Cuthbert,” the officer says. “You look like a busy crew, so I’ll get right to the point. We’re looking for bootleggers.”

“Did you say bootleggers, huh?” Liam says, his voice going high-pitched. “What’re you talking about?”

“We have inside information that there’s a trio of very dangerous bootleggers hiding out around here. Either of you seen anyone suspicious sneaking around these parts?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em, no sir. Not in here,” Niall answers.

The officer hesitates. “You sure? We’ve been asking around door-to-door. You know, just to make sure the neighborhood is safe. We hear these bootleggers are armed.”

“Well, we sure hope you catch ‘em! What do they look like, you know, in case we see someone lurking around?”

“All I know is they’re ugly.”

Louis winces. Low blow, Chief Corden, low blow.

“We’ll keep a lookout, officer.” Niall salutes.

“Thanks, boys. Good news, though. There’s a big thunderstorm rolling in, so we’re hoping the bootleggers will be forced inside so someone’ll catch them soon. You have a good night, now.” The officer takes his leave, and all three of then release a collective breath.

“That was a close one,” Liam sighs, letting Louis out.

Louis stumbles back into the foyer, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust to the light. “You’re telling me. They think we’re ugly!”

“The nerve of them,” Niall grumbles.

“Not important!” Liam exclaims. “I got a couple things out of that conversation. One, they’re looking for us and they know we’re in the neighborhood. Two, there’s a big storm coming and from the sound of it, it ain't gonna be safe to do _anything_ with the boats. We’re stuck here overnight, and so are all 400 cases of rum.”

As if on cue, there’s a clap of thunder that shakes the chandelier. “And there we go,” Niall mutters, before turning to Louis and pushing him toward the stairs. “So you know what this means. Clock’s ticking. Go get your seduction on.”

“Wh—hey, slow down!” Louis protests. “We have _all night_.”

“What, you think the best time to seduce a man is in the middle of the night and _not_ just after his bed’s been turned down?” Niall rolls his eyes. “I know you just got kissed this morning, but Jesus, this is a new level of clueless even for you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts! Just show him yours!” Niall gives him another shove. “Hey, maybe he’s a scaredy-cat. You can hold him through the storm or some garbage like that.”

“I got it, I got it!” Louis snips back, smacking Niall’s hands away. “Okay, okay, I’m going, you happy?”

“Make Harry happy and we’ll be happy.” Niall has the nerve to beam faux-angelically.

 

It takes Louis ten entire minutes to locate Harry’s bedroom. Of course it’s all the way at the end of the hall on the top floor of the house.

When he opens the door, he’s met with Harry, in pajamas and a bathrobe, looking very confused. “Louis? What are you doing here?” His gaze pans over Louis’ new clothes, widening as he takes everything in. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Harry, listen. There’s something I gotta tell you.” Louis slips inside, shutting the door behind him, and waits until he’s sure he’s got all of Harry’s attention.

“What is it? Is it about the swan topiary?”

“No, not that. I just…” Louis shakes his head and softens his voice, trying to make his words sound sincere. “I’ve been thinking about you kissing me earlier today, and I just can’t stop. I just wanted to see you again.” Feeling brave, he skates a hand up Harry’s arm, landing on his chest as he takes a step closer. “I wanted more of you.”

“Louis.” Harry’s brow is furrowed as he takes Louis’ hands off of his chest. “Are you sure you want this? I mean, it’s not really…and we only just kissed this morning…”

“I know what I want, Harry, listen to me,” Louis insists, and finds he actually means every word. “I want you. I want to give you everything.”

Harry’s lips quirk in a grin then, and he draws Louis close to him by the waist. “Well, if you think you can handle me, then who am I to tell you no?”

Their mouths crash together in a frenzy of clashing styles—Louis’ inexperience makes him bitey, a little messy and almost unhinged, while Harry takes his sweet time, making Louis slow down and go his speed. Embarrassingly, just this and Harry’s hands resting heavy just above his ass is enough to make the front of his trousers start to grow tight.

He breaks the kiss, grasping the back of Harry’s neck. “Fuck, can you—”

He’s cut off with a heavy knock on the door.

“This is the police! We have the place surrounded!”

Louis’ heart sinks faster than a corpse in the East River. “That’s Chief Corden,” he whispers. “Fuck, I can’t be in here.”

“Wh—why?” Harry squeaks out.

“I—I just can’t, okay? I’m gonna go hide in here.” Louis kicks his clothes under the bed and dives into the bathroom, shutting the door just as Chief Corden barges into Harry’s bedroom.

“All right, Mr. Styles, I’m gonna make this as quick as I can. I’m Chief James Corden, LIPD, and I know for a fact you have bootleggers hiding out in this very house!” Louis hears James shout.

“B-Bootleggers?” Harry’s voice has risen an octave. “Here? In my house?”

“Right under your nose! We’ve searched every house in the neighborhood and they’ve gotta be in here.” Footsteps get louder, coming toward Louis’ hiding spot. He wedges himself under the sink, as though that’ll make him invisible.

“But they can’t! My butler would have caught them by now!” Harry protests.

The footsteps cease. “Hm. I suppose you’re right. But just in case! We’re gonna keep the place surrounded. No one’s getting in or out.”

“That’s wonderful,” Harry squeaks out.

“And I’m gonna stand guard right outside your bedroom.”

“Even better.” Harry’s voice tapers off, but Chief Corden doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, sleep tight! Sweet dreams!”

The bedroom door slams, and then the bathroom door swings open.

“Well,” Harry says, fidgeting with the waistband of his pajama pants, “do you want to…you know, go back to what we were doing?”

Well, he can’t exactly go anywhere, so what the hell. Louis flashes his sweetest smile. “Can’t say no to that.”

If Louis thought a kiss could be magical, well. Harry shows him a world of pleasure he thought he’d never get to experience, wearing him out until he can only slump on the mattress, boneless and spent, as Harry collapses next to him and curls around him.

“You know, Harry,” Louis slurs as he fights to keep his eyes open, “I think I’m fallin’ in love with you.” It’s probably not the most rational thought to have, considering his mind is fuzzy and tongue is heavy, but he can’t be fucked to care.

“I’m in love with you too, Louis.”

And that’s the last thing he hears before he drifts off.

 

When Louis opens his eyes, he’s in a bed that’s too soft in a room that’s too bright. Blinking blearily, he stretches his arms out only to realize someone’s wrapped around him like a goddamn octopus.

“The hell?” he mutters to himself, twisting around in the person’s grip and coming face-to-face with Harry Styles.

The events of last night come crashing back like a wave. Harry, the sex, Chief Corden outside the door—

Chief Corden is still outside the door.

He bolts upright in bed, breaking Harry’s hold around his waist. He’s got to leave. He can’t leave through the door, but maybe he can slip out a window or something…

Harry doesn’t stir as Louis crawls out of bed and hastily puts his clothes back on, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Of course, that’s when Chief Corden decides it’s a good time to knock on the door and shout, “Rise and shine, Harry Styles! Your new wife is back, and she’s brought her parents!”

“Aw, cripes,” Louis hisses, poking Harry in the face to wake him up and then promptly diving under the bed just as the door creaks open.

“Good morning, you lazy heir,” Chief Corden says jovially. “Ready to go see the love of your life?”

Harry mumbles something incoherent, and then there’s a soft _ploof_ sound that sounds suspiciously like Harry burying his face in a pillow.

“Come on, kid, what’s the holdup? Get up! Get dressed! Your wedding’s this afternoon!”

“Oh, a wedding?” Harry groans. “Didn’t I just have one of those yesterday?”

“Yeah, but this time it’s a _real_ marriage! And you’ll have a real honeymoon, somewhere real romantic! Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

Louis hears footsteps head toward the bathroom, and the door shut. This is his chance. While the chief is busy trying to get Harry to cooperate, Louis bolts out from under the bed and down the stairs as fast as his feet can carry him.

He runs smack into Liam at the bottom of the stairs, who immediately starts shouting at him.

“Louis! Where the hell have you been?” he yells. Louis claps a hand over his mouth and drags him back into the cellar, shutting the door behind him.

“I’ve been busy, okay?”

“Busy _all damn night_? When the feds came and you still weren’t back yet…” Liam shakes his head. “We thought they actually killed you.”

“Me? Blipped off?” Louis forces a chuckle. “No way. Where’s Niall?”

“I’m right here.”

Louis whirls around to see Niall right behind him. “Great, now I don’t have to say this twice. According to Chief Corden, Kendall _and_ her parents are here. Both of ‘em.”

Niall grins through gritted teeth. “Lovely.”

“Yeah. Chief Corden said there’s gonna be a wedding this afternoon and he’s trying to get Harry to come downstairs, but…” Louis trails off. “So, there may be a teeny tiny wrinkle in…things.”

“What do you mean?” Liam asks.

“I…” Louis presses his lips together and covers his face with a hands. “I think I’m fallin’ for the guy.”

A pause, during which Louis risks a glance at his friends. And then Niall speaks up. “You know something, Lou?” he says. “You got as much restraint as an Irish priest at an open bar.”

“So what’s this, you want to try and stop the wedding?” Liam says.

Louis would very much like to stop the wedding, if even just for Harry’s sake. But right now the bigger issue is the 400 cases of rum just feet from where they’re standing, and two of the most ardent advocates for Prohibition one floor above their heads. “I—we probably can’t. But the good thing is, once the wedding’s over they’re gonna leave here for a honeymoon somewhere else.” Louis takes a deep breath to clear his head and try to think of a plan. “So for now, let’s just pretend we work here, like yesterday, and get these two married and out of here as fast as possible. We’ll deal with the booze after everyone’s gone.”

“Is that gonna be enough?” Niall says.

“It’s gonna have to be.” On that cheery note, the three of them head back upstairs to face the music.

 

Niall heads toward the kitchen and Liam plants himself by the front door, which makes Louis realize that he left yesterday’s clothes in the spare bathroom; he’s still the clothes Liam dug out for him. Great, now he doesn’t look like he fits in anywhere at all.

Just then, the front door opens, smacking Liam square in the face. Louis can’t even take a second to laugh at Liam for standing directly behind the door because the people who stroll inside are his three least favorite people in the world.

Senator Ben Winston strides in first, wearing a stuffy suit jacket and a sour expression. Kris Jenner follows him, looking similarly irritated, and lastly has to be Kendall, who looks the most annoyed of all.

Senator Winston hands an envelope to Liam. “Telegram for Harry.”

“Yes, sir! I mean, I’ll get it to him right away, sir!” Liam bows, takes the telegram, bows again, and then hurries up the stairs.

Senator Winston lip curls. “I find it hard to believe a man of Harry Styles’ class would employ such incompetent help.” His gaze lands on Louis. “And who are you?”

Kendall doesn’t even bother asking, taking her coat off and tossing it at Louis. “Where’s Harry?”

“No idea,” Louis says, chucking Kendall’s coat on a nearby armchair.

“I wasn’t asking _you_.” Kendall gives him a withering glare. “Are you the wedding planner?”

“Yes,” Louis says with a gasp. “I’m—yes, that’s exactly who I am. Ready to plan your wedding?”

“How am I supposed to plan my wedding without my husband?” Kendall screeches.

“Now, now, my dear, I’m sure he’s just getting himself ready for the wedding,” Senator Winston assures her. “The butler will find him.” Kendall pouts but doesn’t say anything more.

“Well, we don’t _need_ him for everything,” Kris says, turning to Louis. “Shall we discuss the music options?”

Louis nods, trying to look as serious as possible. “Right, right. I, uh, know some friends in a band who know all the newest Gershwin and Berlin and Broadway tunes.”

Kris gasps, scandalized. “That won’t do! This is a wedding, not some…illicit nightclub! I want a classical string quartet.”

Louis sees an opportunity to keep Kris Jenner distracted, so he takes it. “You sure? I think a modern couple deserves some modern music. And I think the guests will like it more, too.”

“This isn’t about the guests! I won’t have that—that disgusting music at my daughter’s wedding.”

“Well, I gotta be honest here for a second.” Louis tries his best to look sheepish. “I don’t know nothing about classical music. That’s like, Beethoven and Mozart and them, right?”

Kris and Senator Winston both inhale sharply at the same time. “You call yourself a wedding planner but you know nothing about music?” Kris sniffs. “I want a sweet melody that’s proper for a wedding. By Strauss!”

“Strauss? The guy who makes those riveted denim pants?”

“You uncultured ragamuffin! How can you not know the music of Strauss?”

Before Louis can think of another ridiculous answer, Harry and Liam come traipsing down the stairs; Louis wonders where Chief Corden scurried off to. It’s probably too much to hope that he’s left.

“There you are!” Kendall and her mother shriek at the same time, the former jumping up from her seat and dashing over to Harry’s side.

“Here I am,” Harry says dully, awkwardly patting Kendall on the shoulder.

“If you’ve touched her, Mr. Styles, you’ll regret it,” Senator Winston is growls, jabbing a finger at Harry’s chest.

Harry puts his hands up. “I can honestly say I’d never dream of it.”

“At least he’s been honorable in one way.” Kendall clings to Harry’s arm. “But you’ll get to soon enough, sweetheart. We’ll have a perfect wedding, and a romantic dance, and then I’m all yours.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “A—dance?”

“Hmph!” Kris crosses her arms. “Married three times and still no idea how to dance? No wonder your wives all left you.”

“Actually,” Harry begins to say before he’s cut off again, this time by Senator Winston.

“We’ll just have _him_ teach Harry how to dance.” And Senator Winston points directly at Liam, who gulps and stutters out, “Wait, me?”

“Are you deaf? Yes, _you_. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance either?”

“I—” Liam blinks twice before snapping back to reality. “Sure! What do you want me to teach you? The Charleston? The foxtrot? The Lindy Hop?”

“I said, I want none of that at this wedding!” Kris shouts. “This is a refined, sophisticated, proper event! You will teach Mr. Styles how to do a proper Viennese waltz for his first dance with my daughter!”

“Right, of course! Silly me!” Liam’s laugh borders on hysterical. “Come on then, let’s waltz.”

For ten awkward seconds, he and Harry try to arrange themselves in the proper positions for a waltz. Harry’s hands hover over Liam’s shoulders, then his waist, and Liam seems equally unsure.

“So um, am I gonna be the girl?” Harry says.

“Uh…”

At that very moment, Niall comes scurrying out of the kitchen with two glasses. “Good morning, dear sir and madam! Wedding planning can be stressful, so I thought you might be in need of refreshment. Here’s some fresh lemonade,” Niall says with an alarming amount of false cheer, offering the drinks to Kris and Senator Winston.

Kris doesn’t pick up on it, though, taking the glass with a sniff. “Well, it’s good to know _some_ of the staff in this house are courteous.”

“You know it. Now excuse me, I’ll just need to confer with our wedding planner in the kitchen for a moment about the menu.” Niall grins and yanks Louis away by the arm.

Once they’re safely ensconced in the kitchen, Louis rounds on Niall. “What’s going on now?”

Niall, to his surprise, starts giggling. “I spiked the lemonade,” he whispers through a fit of laughter.

“You _what_?!”

“Put some of Harry’s gin in it. I bet they won’t even notice.”

Louis groans. “Niall, you’re gonna get us all arrested.”

“They ain’t gonna notice. Now listen. I found a couple recipes written down, so I’ve actually been making soup.” Niall lifts the lid off of a pot simmering on the stove, and the strong aroma of tomatoes wafts into the air.

“You’ve been _cooking_?”

“Can’t tell me I’m a bad actor. And you know what? I ain’t a bad cook either, if someone’s telling me what to do. Come have a taste.”

Niall offers him a ladle, but Louis has a better idea. “You wanna bring this out to everyone and have them try it? I’m just trying to think of ways to stall, you know? And save Liam from dying of embarrassment.”

“You’re a genius. Grab some bowls and spoons. It’ll be an early lunch, or something. Let’s make a party of it.” Niall grabs the soup pot and waits for Louis to stack a set of bowls and spoons on a tray he’s found in a cabinet. “Hey, if Prohibition ever ends, we got a backup plan as real butlers.”

“Me being a butler? With _my_ mouth? Can you imagine?” Louis chuckles as they leave the kitchen.

Liam is the one who spots Niall and Louis as they walk in. “Is that soup?” he asks, abruptly stepping away from Harry and pointing at the pot in Niall’s hands.

Louis pastes a smile on. “It is! We thought you’d like to taste the soup I’ve made ahead of time. You know, to approve it.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Harry bursts out, sounding a bit manic. “Do I smell tomato?”

Niall beams. “Tomato soup.”

“Wonderful! Shall we all try it in the dining room?”

And so Niall and Louis find themselves bringing up the rear of the party as they all head toward the dining room. Kris glares at Liam until he pulls out her chair, and then does the same for Kendall. The room lapses into an uncomfortable silence as Niall fills the soup bowls and hands them to Louis to place on the table, who really shouldn’t have been given this task but it’ll too late to do anything about it now. He splashes a little over the side as he puts Kendall’s bowl down, but Kris’s sloshes a bit but remains unspilled. He sets Harry’s down perfectly, with barely a ripple, but Senator Winston. Senator Winston is when everything goes to shit.

Harry seems to think it’s a good idea to put his hand on Louis’ arm at the very moment Louis walks over to deliver Senator Winston’s soup. Which, as Harry clearly didn’t learn from their episode with the now-headless swan topiary, gives Louis weird muscle spasms. Which is exactly what happens.

Louis feels like the next ten seconds happen in slow motion. He jerks his arm away and lets go of the soup bowl, which lands, upside down, on the edge of the table, and then tumbles directly into Senator Winston’s lap. Tomato soup stains everything within a two-foot radius, including Harry’s own suit, making the place look like the scene of a double homicide.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis sputters out.

“Oh, dear,” Harry mumbles, slowly standing up.

Liam has produced another napkin from seemingly nowhere, dabbing at Harry’s stained trousers but only succeeding in making the stain bigger. “Oh—oh, oh no, okay, um, let’s find you a new suit! Come on!” Liam exclaims, talking a mile a minute.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”

The two of them scramble away from the table. Louis wishes he could do the same as every pair of eyes in the room turns to glare at him.

Senator Winston’s face has gone as red as the soup. “You—You—You incompetent—” His jaw clenches as he searched for a word bad enough to describe Louis. “You’re fired! I want you nowhere near this wedding, or this house!” He throws a soup-stained napkin in Louis’ face. “Out! Now!”

Louis doesn’t waste a second, bolting out of the room and heading thoughtlessly up the stairs, just wanting to get as far from the senator as possible. Everything’s gone wrong, this entire plan was a mistake, and they should have just found a better place to hide that rum than some millionaire’s beach house.

He finds his way back to the room where he’d left his clothes from the day before, hastily redressing and leaving the fancy clothes in a pile in the corner of the room. As he hops around tugging his pants on, something falls out of the pocket.

Harry’s wallet.

Louis groans. Fuck, now he’s got to return that too. Harry’s surely noticed his lack of a wallet by now.

He heads up to Harry’s bedroom, hoping to just leave it behind without making a fuss about it. But before he can toss it inside and then make himself scarce, the door opens and Harry appears, dressed in a new gray suit.

”Oh—hello, Louis.” Harry gives him a kind smile. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Louis lies, not even bothering to try to make his voice sound upbeat.

“Well, don’t blame yourself.” Harry pats him on the shoulder. “You’re the gardener. You’re probably not used to serving food, right? It’s not really your fault.”

Louis sighs. “Are you really this naïve, kid?”

Harry’s face falls. “What are you talking about?”

“I ain’t really your gardener, you know.” Louis waves his free hand. “Can we, um…go inside?”

“Yes, of course.” Harry steps aside to let him in. The first thing Louis sees is the still-unmade bed, sheets wrinkled and both pillows clearly slept on, and deliberately does _not_ think about the uncomfortable twist in his chest at the sight. Squaring his shoulders, he keeps his head up, strutting inside and taking a deep breath before turning to face Harry. God, he really is just a kid, Louis thinks as he looks at Harry’s face. Eyes wide, confused, genuinely believing all the lies Louis and Liam and Niall have been feeding him over the last day and a half.

“I ain’t really your gardener,” he says again. “And Niall ain’t your cook, and Liam ain’t your butler.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “So then…who are you?”

Louis sighs, closing his eyes for a second. “You know how Chief Corden’s been looking for a trio of bootleggers hiding out on the Island?”

“Yeah?” Harry nods slowly. “What’s that have to do with you, though?”

Louis just stares for a second. “Harry, come on. I know you got a pretty face, but use that noodle of yours for a second, would you?”

He can see the gears turning in Harry’s head, as well as the exact second he realizes. “You mean…wait, _you’re_ the armed and dangerous and ugly criminals Chief Corden’s been looking for?”

“Yeah, that’s…that’s us.” Louis manages a weak little smile. “I’m the armed, dangerous, ugly bootlegger. And we’ve got 400 cases of rum in your cellar right now.”

Harry’s expression cycles from confused to shocked to ticked off to disappointed before settling on something unreadable. “So you’ve been lying to me this entire time?”

“Pretty much.”

“About everything?”

“Well…not _everything_. Remember last night, when I said I was falling in love with you? That wasn’t no lie,” Louis tells him.

“Well, how am I supposed to believe that now? If everything else was a lie?” Harry throws his hands up and starts pacing around the room. “I mean, is Louis even your real name?”

“I lie about a lot of stuff, Harry, okay? It’s part of my job. But I don’t lie about feelings and stuff. I swear. I don’t have a whole lot of ‘em most of the time.”

Harry whirls around. “My god, I bet I wasn’t even your first kiss?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re mad about?”

“Well, among other things!”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then Harry sighs. “So where are you gonna go?”

“I gotta get the rum and go.”

“You’re worried about the _rum_?”

“My boss is gonna kill me if I don’t get it back to him. You know, assuming Senator Winston or Chief Corden don’t kill me first.” Louis scrubs his hands over his face. “Look, this is…this has gotta be goodbye, okay? We can’t be together.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, _why not_? Why do you think? Aside from the fact that both of us are men, you’re New York’s hottest thing, and I’m just…”

“A common criminal?” Harry supplies.

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say it like that, but you get it.” Louis shakes his head. “Even if I were a dame, this wouldn’t work. Anyway, I gotta do something else.” With shaking hands, he pulls the wallet out of his pocket and hold it out. “This is yours.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You found my wallet! I’ve been looking for that since the night I went to Little Mix! Where’d you find it?”

“So I sort of…took it, that night, outside Little Mix?” Louis confesses.

“Wait a—” Harry’s jaw drops. “You stole it! Right after you said you wouldn’t steal anything from me! You _promised_ , Louis!”

“Well, I didn’t steal it, ‘cause here I am returning it.” Louis tosses it onto the bed. “And now you got it back, so you can’t say I stole it.”

“But you still took it! Were you ever gonna give it back?”

“Probably not, but here I am, okay?” Louis is this close to picking something up and throwing it at the walls. “I’m giving it back ‘cause I like you.”

“No, you don’t. If you liked me you wouldn’t have lied to me and stolen my wallet.”

“I—” A dozen different retorts are on the tip of Louis’ tongue right now, but he doesn’t want to say any of them. Because as much as he wants, _needs_ Harry to understand that he meant it when Louis said he was falling for Harry, he also needs to look out for himself and make it out of this house, preferably not in handcuffs. “I don’t have time for this. I gotta go.”

And that’s exactly what he does. He turns on his heel and leaves the room, shutting the door right in the face of a bewildered Harry Styles.

 

Louis takes the servants’ staircase down to the kitchen, where Niall is busy cooking up a storm. The thick aroma of roast chicken permeates the air—since when does Niall know how to make roast chicken? As good as it smells, he doesn’t have the time to marvel at Niall's newfound culinary skills. He turns the corner and finds Niall and Liam whispering in the corner, ignoring a pot that looks dangerously close to boiling over.

“Hey, boys,” Louis says, and the two of them whirl around to face him. “I gotta go. I’ll be down at the boats.”

“You’re leaving?” Niall crosses his arms. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Senator Winston ‘fired’ me, remember? I can’t stay here or that’ll look suspicious. And even if I could, I don’t want to.” Louis sighs. “The last thing I wanna do is stick around and watch this, okay?”

As soon as he’s finished his sentence, he hears the strains of a violin waft into the kitchen from somewhere in the backyard. The damn string quartet is here. “Oh, for God’s—” he starts to mutter, only to be cut off by a loud laugh from Kendall.

“Okay, new plan.” Liam darts out of the kitchen and returns a minute later with three trenchcoats and hats. “Put these on.”

“Why?” Louis asks, holding up his coat. Which, just like yesterday’s butler uniform, is way too big on him.

“Does it matter?” Niall’s already got his buttoned up.

“Just follow my lead. And walk like you own the place.”

So the three of them leave the kitchen in their trenchcoats, Liam leading their odd little trio out the rear door and right into the backyard where a wedding has hastily been set up. A long white cloth makes an aisle between two clumps of people, leading to a priest and a very bored-looking Harry, who’s fidgeting with his jacket sleeves. Kendall has changed into a flowing dress, the train dragging fifteen feet behind her as she walks down the aisle.

“Wait, are you sure about this?” Niall whispers.

“Positive. Just follow my lead.” Liam waits one more second before bursting out of his hiding place and starting to yell. “Officer Flynn, LIPD! Nobody’s marrying nobody today!” Niall and Louis tug their hats on and follow suit, striding into the backyard with as much purpose as they can muster.

Senator Winston scowls, peering at Liam. “Would you care to explain this, _butler_?”

“I ain’t really a butler, and my pals Joey and Tommy ain’t cooks and gardeners! We’re undercover Prohibition agents!” Liam announces to the assembled crowd, who all gasp.

“Jesus Christ, this was the plan?” Louis mutters to Niall, who just shrugs. He stands up straight and crosses his arms, trying his best to look menacing and authoritative.

“And I have it on good authority that this man, right here,” Liam goes on, strutting up to Harry and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, “ain’t really Harry Styles. He’s actually the most wanted bootlegger in America, masquerading as a rich playboy!”

“You’re Dagger?” Kendall gawks. “Wh—Daddy, is this true?” she demands, turning to Senator Winston.

“It is!” Harry interrupts, stepping forward. ”I’m Dagger. I’m actually heading up this whole, uh, business.”

“You really expect us to believe that?” Senator Winston narrows his eyes.

“He’s right! It _is_ him!” Kris exclaims, swaying unsteadily on her feet.

“Is she okay?” Niall asks nobody in particular.

Senator Winston’s face becomes even more pinched. “She’s been a bit…out of sorts. Complaining about headaches and dizziness and nausea.”

“How strange.” Niall flashes Louis a furtive smile.

“You want proof?” Harry goes on. “I’ve got 400 cases of rum in my cellar!”

“That’s right you do, and you’re coming with us.” Liam takes Harry’s left arm, and Louis takes Harry’s right, and they begin to frogmarch him away.

“Hang on a goddamn minute, you three!” Someone pushes their way to the front.

Louis inhales sharply. Chief Corden.

“Chief! Glad you’re here for backup!” Liam grins, still keeping up the charade.

“These three aren’t officers! These three are the bootleggers we’ve been looking for for the last two days!” Chief Corden growls, and the crowd gasps again. “They’re three of Dagger’s most notorious gang members, and now we finally got you!”

Chaos erupts at the wedding. Kendall starts shrieking and makes a beeline for the senator; Kris slumps into a chair and shuts her eyes; Niall starts running away, yelling, “Scatter! He can’t get all of us if we split up!”

Louis spots Chief Corden running towards him and dives into the crowd of wedding guests, squeezing between bodies as he tries to lose the chief. Suddenly there’s a hard yank on the back of his jacket and he stops short, kicking and squirming to try to get away. “Got you!” Chief Corden declares.

“What is going on here?” rings out a new voice, and everyone stops in their tracks.

A woman and a man, both dressed in luxurious modern formalwear, stand in the backyard, observing the scene with detachment. “Is this meant to be my goddaughter’s _wedding_?” says the man.

“Uncle Robin!” Kendall exclaims, running to him. “I almost married a bootlegger!”

The woman steps forward, and Louis has the odd thought that she kind of looks like Harry. Dark hair, a similar facial structure—but Harry never mentioned a mother. Maybe she’s his aunt?

“If you’ll excuse me, Senator Twist,” Chief Corden says, dragging Louis up to the new arrivals by the collar, “we happen to be in the middle of an arrest here.”

“Senator _Twist_?” Louis exclaims, kicking Chief Corden in the shin until he’s released.

“Yes, I’m Kendall’s godfather,” Senator Twist says with a pleasant smile. “And this is Anne Cox. We had some rather joyous news, but this seems to be a zoo.”

“What’s the news?” Harry, Louis, and Kendall all say at the same time.

Anne turns to Harry, holding her arms out. “Harry…it’s me.”

For a long second, nobody says anything. Harry just stares, looking from Anne to Senator Twist and back to Anne. And then finally: “Mother?”

Anne smiles, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, and she wraps him in a bear hug as several wedding guests begin to clap. “I—so you’re my mother? Uncle Simon never told me…I thought…”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Anne tells him, cupping his face in her hands. “I had you out of wedlock, and I couldn’t afford to give you a good life, so Simon adopted you. He’s not really your uncle, unfortunately, and I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner. But a few years ago, I happened into quite a bit of money, and I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

“Wait, so what about Senator Twist?” Harry asks.

Anne and the senator share a small smile. “Senator Twist is your father.”

Oh, Jesus, this is too much to handle. The commotion also seems like a perfect time to slip away, so that’s exactly what Louis does. While Harry and Anne continue to have their tearful reunion, Louis sneaks away from the wedding and down to the docks. Liam and Niall will be fine, he’s sure, especially now that Senator Twist is here. He’s been notorious for pardoning bootleggers and campaigning to end Prohibition.

He doesn’t waste time, boarding the boat and starting to cast off, only to hear someone calling his name.

“Louis, wait!”

Harry.

Louis ignores him, despite the growing urgency in Harry’s voice. Once the last of the ropes is untied, he pushes away from the docks. Get away, just get as far from this place as possible. He’ll take whatever verbal lashing Dagger has for him, he just can’t stay here a second longer.

“Stop!”

Louis looks up, shocked to see Anne running across the hill next to Harry. “Louis, please, wait just a moment!” she calls.

Sighing, he stops, clambering out of the boat to sit at the edge of the dock. “Why can’t you let me go, Harry?”

“This is important, please, just wait a moment,” Harry pleads, doubling over to catch his breath as soon as he reaches the docks.

Anne walks right up to Louis, studying his face intently. “So you’re Louis,” she says, extending a hand for him to shake.

“Yeah, that’s…that’s me.” Louis manages a smile, getting to his feet and returning the handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Louis’ gaze darts to Harry, who’s staring at the ground. “I can explain.”

“No need.” Anne smiles at him. “I hear you’re the one responsible for the 400 cases of rum in the cellar.”

“Uh, yeah, about that…I was gonna get that out. I swear I wasn’t gonna just like, leave it there and frame him or nothing, I just needed a place to put it for a night but then all of this happened and—”

Anne cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t apologize, Louis. You’re one fine bootlegger, and I’m happy to have you on my crew.”

“On your crew…” Louis repeats, until it dawns on him. “Hang on a moment. You’re telling me _you’re_ Dagger?”

Anne grins, planting her hands on her hips. “The one and only.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “Cripes, you’re Dagger.”

“As I just said.” Anne motions to Harry. “Now, Harry also tells me he’s in love with you.”

“I said I—” Harry begins, but Anne hushes him.

“Nonsense, you didn’t say it in those words, but I know what you meant. And I think it would be a wonderful idea for the two of you to take over my business.”

Louis blinks. “You want _us_?”

“Well, you and your other two friends—Niall and Liam, is it?—are three of the most reliable crewmembers I have. And I think it’s about time Harry got involved in the family business. As long as Prohibition’s going to be around, so will we.”

Louis glances at Harry, who grins back at him. “I think—” Louis starts, only for Harry to cut him off with a kiss.

Anne’s laughing when they separate. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Later that night, when the wedding guests have cleared out and Kendall and her family have gone back to New York City, Louis finds himself back on the docks with Harry, who’s holding one of the bottles of rum from the cellar—a parting gift from Anne, as she’d said. She had Niall and Liam load all 400 cases into the boats and take them back to her warehouse, leaving one bottle and one boat behind for Louis and Harry. “For the happy couple to celebrate with,” she’d said with a wink.

“Come on, get in,” Louis says, hefting the oars and patting the narrow wooden seat.

Harry eyes it warily. “I don’t wanna fall in.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Styles. Come on. You can do it, big guy.”

Harry falls into the boat with an ungraceful _oof_ , but at least he’s still dry. Louis takes at as his signal to push off.

The night is still, the crescent moon high and bright in a clear sky, reflecting in silver on the water. It's all kind of romantic, if you ask Louis. “Hey, did we get glasses from the kitchen?” Harry asks suddenly.

“You don’t need glasses.” Louis uncaps the bottle and takes a swig, laughing at Harry’s shocked face.

“Louis!” he gasps.

Louis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, passing the bottle to Harry. “Your turn.”

“Do I have to?”

“If you’re gonna help run the biggest bootlegging operation on the East Coast, you gotta be able to stomach your liquor,” Louis teases him.

Harry looks uncertainly at the bottle, then lifts it to his lips and takes the tiniest sip possible. “Oh, god,” he sputters, coughing as he plunks the bottle down between them.

“You’ll get used to it.” Louis laughs, nudging at Harry’s foot with one of his own. “Hey, Harry.”

“Yeah?” Their gazes met, Harry’s green eyes wide and unguarded.

“Did you mean it, when you told your mom you’re in love with me?”

Harry blushes a deep pink. “Well, like I said, I didn’t exactly _say_ that…but yeah. I’m falling for you, Louis.”

Louis grins. “I meant it, too. I love you, Harry Styles.”

The bottle of rum tips over, spilling all over the boat as they lean in to kiss each other, but Louis can’t bring himself to care. He’ll just steal another one from somewhere. He’d steal anything for Harry.


End file.
